The Spooks Good Pub Guide
by Rambling Scribe
Summary: A collection of stories all set in pubs. All series and characters likely to feature. Rating, series, spoilers and characters listed at the beginning of each chapter.


**Disclaimer: Spooks belongs to Kudos and the BBC.**

**A/N 1: First in a series of stories that will all be set in pubs. Each chapter will be a complete story. All series and main characters from Spooks are likely to feature. Rating, series, spoilers and characters will be given at the beginning of each chapter. **

**A/N 2: Here's something inspired by a recent visit to North Yorkshire. The pub and café are real, by the way. ;) **

**Series: Post S9 - AU**

**Rating: T**

**Characters: Harry and Ruth**

**Spoilers: 9.8 **

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**The Elsinore, Whitby**

Ruth waited until a blue Transit van passed her, slowing down for the junction ahead. It was a tight turn onto Flowergate and as the driver edged the vehicle out, Ruth took advantage of the cover it offered. She was across the road and past _The Elsinore_ before the van got into second gear. A few yards further on, she re-crossed the street and turned back towards the pub.

Despite her aching feet and the need to get out of the cold, Ruth still hesitated at the entrance to the pub. She'd spent several weeks mulling this over, considering every angle, _analysing,_ but had not arrived at any satisfactory conclusion. Worn out from lack of sleep and feeling emotionally fragile, she'd submitted readily to the suggestion she take some leave. And now here she was in Whitby, still full of doubt and uncertainty.

Ruth was startled out of her indecision by the pub door opening. A tall, dark-haired man wearing a long black leather coat stepped forward and then stopped when he saw her.

"Sorry luv," he said, and stood to one side to let her pass.

It was blessedly warm in the pub and Ruth felt her face sting a little in response to the change in temperature. She pulled her gloves off and undid a couple of buttons on her coat as she looked around. The bar was directly in front of her and along the windows were bench seats, upholstered in a deep red velour. The other furniture was dotted about in an apparently informal arrangement and Ruth watched as a group of twenty-somethings pushed a couple of tables together and shifted chairs about.

She moved forwards, trying to appear casual, trying to look as if she'd planned to meet someone. Stepping around a half-height wooden partition that served as an impromptu coat rack, Ruth found herself standing just a few feet from the man she was seeking. From outward appearances he looked completely engrossed in the newspaper crossword, a nearly empty pint glass forgotten on the table in front of him.

"Finally decided to come in from the cold then?" Harry said, his attention still on the crossword.

That he'd been expecting her was less of a surprise than the tone of his voice. It wasn't a particularly friendly greeting and Ruth's mind started to spin as all her earlier doubts resurfaced. Feeling a little dizzy, she reached for the chair opposite Harry and pulled it away from the table. The legs scraped on the wooden floor setting her teeth on edge. She sat down, heavily, and took several slow deep breaths to calm her racing heart.

"Are you all right," Harry asked, his earlier animosity vanishing. "Ruth?"

"I'm OK, really. It's just the change in temperature."

He studied her for a moment or two, his eyes warm and concerned behind his reading glasses, and then stood up. "You're frozen; I'll get you a drink."

The dizziness had passed by the time Harry returned but Ruth still felt a bit wobbly. She remained silent as she watched him unload the contents of the tray he'd brought back with him from the bar.

"I wasn't sure what you wanted," he said, "so I got you a hot chocolate and a brandy." He took a sip of his beer before placing it on the table. "I assumed you didn't want a pint of _Strongarm_ but if you do…"

"No, this is fine, thank you."

They sat quietly for a minute or two, Ruth busying herself with stirring her hot chocolate while Harry folded up his newspaper and took off his glasses.

"You weren't surprised to see me," Ruth said, breaking the silence.

"Best view of the whole place from here," Harry replied.

She twisted round in her seat. There was a large mirror on the wall to the right of the door as you entered the pub. Most people coming in would be focussing on the bar or looking for their drinking companions so wouldn't notice it. But at the far end of the pub, where Harry was, it provided an excellent view of the door and the tables the other side of the partition. In turn, he was hidden from view until you were four or five feet from him and then you were caught, as she had been.

Ruth turned back and looked at him. "Old habits."

He shrugged. "I saw you earlier as well, at the Abbey. Then at St. Mary's."

"But didn't you want to speak to me?"

"Last conversation we had in a churchyard ended badly."

It was a fair point, if a little brutally made, but it didn't negate the fact that he'd seen her but made no effort to even acknowledge her. Ruth's heart sank.

"I saw you, too," she stated, trying hard not to make it sound like an accusation.

"_You_ didn't come and talk to me."

"You were with...your friend."

Harry said nothing, compelling Ruth to continue her questioning.

"Have you known her long?" _Are you sleeping with her?_

"For a while."

"And...?"

"And what, Ruth?"

"S-sorry, I'm just..." Ruth sighed. "Curious, Harry. That's all." It was a pathetic lie, one which she knew he could see right through. She was jealous and there was no point trying to pretend otherwise.

"Old habits," Harry said, softly.

Ruth smiled despite feeling overwhelmed with sadness. She'd left it too late; she should have found him sooner. Timing; it was always about timing.

"Her name is Madeleine," Harry offered, sensing the need for some honesty. "She's not an ex, current or potential girlfriend although I think she might disagree with that last part."

"Oh?"

"She's interested in me but I'm not interested in her."

Relief flooded through Ruth. She didn't doubt that Harry was telling the truth. When she'd seen him and Madeleine earlier something hadn't been quite right. Her analytical skills had been blunted though by the rush of emotion that had overcome her at finally setting eyes on him. It was only now that she realised he'd been polite towards the other woman but was keeping her at a distance, physically and emotionally.

"She's just someone I know. There's nothing more to it."

Ruth picked up her brandy and swallowed a mouthful. She coughed slightly as she put the glass back on the table.

"All right?" Harry asked.

She nodded.

"Good."

Further conversation was prevented by the arrival of a silver-haired man, somewhere in his late sixties, who greeted Harry with a cheery "Hello, lad, how you keeping?"

"Hello, Alan. I'm fine, thanks," Harry replied as Ruth valiantly tried not to laugh at her companion being referred to as 'lad'.

"Grand, grand. I was wondering if-" Alan stopped, mid-sentence as he realised his friend was not alone. "Oh, sorry, I didn't know you had company." He gave Ruth a warm smile. "Sorry, love."

She waved her hand at him. "No, don't worry."

"So, Harry," Alan said, eyes twinkling, "are you not going to introduce me to your lovely young woman?"

Harry made the introductions and as Ruth and Alan shook hands he spotted a chance for a bit of fun. A blonde woman, a year or two younger than his friend, was advancing towards them.

"Ah, Alan, here's your lovely young woman."

"Eh? What are you talking about?"

"He means me you daft bugger!" the blonde said, busily extracting herself from a heavy overcoat. "Here, give us a hand with this."

Alan played dutiful husband as Harry once again made the introductions.

"This is Sheila, Alan's wife. And this is Ruth, a...friend of mine."

"Lovely to meet you, Ruth." Sheila reached across the table to shake hands. "Harry never mentioned anything about having a visitor."

"Oh, it was all very short notice," Ruth lied, smoothly. "I unexpectedly had some time off work so decided to put it to good use."

"What a lovely idea. And it's good for Harry to have some company."

"I know," Alan interrupted, "we'll get a round of drinks in and join you."

"No, Alan." Sheila took her husband's arm and started to move him away from the table. "Harry sees enough of us, let's leave him in peace to catch up with Ruth. Lovely to meet you, dear," she added, as Alan began to protest. "I'm sure we'll see you again."

Ruth and Harry watched the older couple go.

"They seem very nice," Ruth said. "Have you known them long?"

"A while. I rent my cottage from them." Harry sipped his beer. "They've been good to me. Things were a bit...difficult. At first."

Ruth was quiet for a moment before asking. "Why Whitby, Harry?"

"Coast, moorland, wild weather. What's not to like?"

She smiled at him. "You look well on it."

It was a truthful observation. He might be trying to give the impression of a man beginning to run to seed; a man who spent too much time in the pub, but it was a clever deception. He'd grown a beard but it was neatly trimmed and his hair was still cut quite short. And the thick woollen sweater he was wearing had seen better days but it couldn't hide from Ruth that he'd lost a little weight. It suited him.

"You look well, too," Harry said. "Marsham Street must agree with you."

Ruth stared at him.

_He knew._

But of course he would. His glowing report on her – a love letter in the form of a staff appraisal and job reference. A goodbye letter, too, and Towers had almost fallen over himself to take advantage of it and offer her a job. A job she'd accepted with uncharacteristic haste, her analytical mind disorientated by the Albany incident and Harry's abrupt departure from the service.

"It's the Home Office, Harry, but I've got used to it."

"And William?"

"Yes, I've even got used to him as well."

Harry laughed, softly. "No regrets then?"

Ruth finished her brandy. "Oh, there's always regrets, Harry. How could there not be?"

**-x-**

Alan settled himself next to his wife at a small table near the pub door. He'd have preferred to sit either with Harry and Ruth or near to them but Sheila had insisted they give the couple some privacy.

"Do you reckon she's the ex-wife?"

"Don't be ridiculous, Alan," Sheila replied.

"Why is that ridiculous?"

"Harry's daughter is, what? Thirty? Ruth's far too young to be her mother."

"Huh, fair point I s'pose. So, ex-girlfriend then?"

"Oh, Alan," his wife sighed and then patted him on the arm, "there's nothing 'ex' about Ruth, nothing at all."

**-x-**

Ruth's hot chocolate had finally cooled to a drinkable temperature and she sipped at it, deep in thought.

"Why didn't you fight, Harry?" she said, eventually. "You just left. You let them-"

"-you don't understand," he interrupted, stung by the disappointment in her voice. "There was no point fighting them. They wanted me out and they were going to have their way."

"But you just walked away, without saying anything or telling anyone."

"Towers knew."

"But what about m-…the rest of us?"

Harry took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. "I just thought it would be easier. A clean break, to coin a cliché."

Ruth looked unconvinced.

"I had to go, that was the deal. I got to keep my pension, even the bloody knighthood, not that I give a damn about that, but I had to go right then. Quickly, quietly." He shook his head, an air of helplessness about him. "If I hadn't...you, the others. It wouldn't have just been my career. My life."

He watched as she fidgeted with her nearly empty cup, picking it up and putting it down again before she finally spoke.

"I was so angry, Harry."

"I'm sorry. I didn't do it to hurt you."

"No, not about that. Well, yes, I was angry about that, and upset, but I meant…when you left to meet Luc…Bateman. Those things I said…I-I shouldn't have. I'm so sorry."

Harry reached across the table and took Ruth's hand. "Don't apologise. Christ, after everything that had happened you'd every right to be angry. And upset."

Ruth looked down at their joined hands. "I was also upset that you didn't come and see me in the hospital."

She'd collapsed on the Grid before Harry had returned from his rooftop confrontation, the combination of shock, the anaesthetic from Bateman and exhaustion finally getting to her. Tariq, frightened out of his wits, had called security and then an ambulance and she'd been taken off to A&E with surprising speed.

She'd woken up, unsure of her surroundings and desperate to see Harry. Instead, it had been Dimitri asleep in the chair in her hospital room. She'd turned her face away from him and cried silent tears, wishing she could wind the clock back.

"I was at the hospital," Harry said.

Ruth looked up, startled. "When?"

"The same night you were admitted. I managed to sneak in."

"But you didn't stay until I was awake?"

"I couldn't risk it. I spoke to one of the doctors and he told me you'd be OK. I wouldn't have left otherwise."

"I thought..." Ruth sniffed and raised her free hand up in front of her face to shield herself from Harry's gaze.

He leant forward. "I'm sorry I didn't stay. I'm sorry I left without talking to you but I was trying to keep you safe. Ruth," he pleaded, "I'm not asking for forgiveness, I'm just trying to explain."

She swallowed down a sob and nodded. "I know, Harry, I know."

Once Ruth had regained her composure and Harry felt confident she wasn't about to run away, he went to the bar for more drinks. He returned with a large brandy for her and a large whisky for himself.

Ruth eyed the drinks. "Bloody Hell, are you trying to get me drunk?"

Harry laughed. "No, just trying to fortify you a bit. And keep the cold out."

Happy with his explanation, Ruth picked up her glass and cradled it in her hands, enjoying the rich aroma of the liquor. "You know what I've been doing," she said, "are you going to tell me what you've been getting up to this last year or so?"

"This and that," Harry replied, looking at her over the rim of his own glass. "I travelled around a bit for the first few months. Spain, Portugal, the Balearics, Italy." He paused for a moment. "I got restless though. The more I moved around, the worse it got."

"Were you bored?"

"No, just..." _Lonely; desperately lonely._ "Well, maybe bored with my own company."

"I know what that's like," Ruth said, gently.

"I decided to come back to the UK. Partly because of that and partly because of my daughter."

"Catherine? She's all right isn't she?"

Harry put his drink down and reached into the pocket of his coat for his phone. "She's fine. I came back because of this." He scrolled through the photos and then passed the mobile to Ruth. "My granddaughter, Rose."

Ruth looked at the picture of the baby. "She's beautiful, Harry. How old is she?"

"Nearly four months. She looks just like her mother did at that age."

"Have you seen her? In person?" Ruth enquired, carefully.

"Oh yes. They came to visit a couple of weeks ago. I think Catherine was glad to have a bit of a rest." Harry rubbed his hand over his chin. "To be honest, I'd forgotten how much work a baby is but it was lovely to have one about again. I felt a bit lost when they went back to London."

It was Ruth's turn to comfort Harry and she took his hand in hers, squeezing his fingers reassuringly. "I'm sure they'll come back and see you soon. Granddad and the seaside all in one location – who could resist?"

Harry smiled, ruefully. "Yes, not to mention all the sweet shops."

They chatted some more, exchanging stories of their daily lives. Ruth revealed how Towers had managed to reign in some of the more outlandish ideas of the other Ministers' advisers and Harry regaled her with tales about Whitby's Gothic weekends. By the time he'd finished telling her about his impromptu Saturday night in _The Elsinore_ with forty Goths, she was crying with laughter.

"What would you like to do?" he asked Ruth when she'd finally stopped laughing. "Do you want another drink or would you like to get something to eat?"

"Food sounds like an excellent idea."

"OK. How about The Magpie Café? You can't come to Whitby, Ruth, and _not_ visit The Magpie Café."

"It's Saturday night, Harry – it'll be rammed."

He stood up and began putting his jacket on. "Don't worry. They do rather good take out fish and chips."

They headed out of the pub, pausing only to say goodnight to Alan and Sheila. Outside, it had started to snow; soft, large flakes dropping silently from the sky, coating everything and smothering footsteps and traffic noise.

Harry stood in front of Ruth and finished buttoning up her coat. "Got your gloves?"

She pulled them out of her coat pocket. "Yes."

"And your hat?"

Ruth rooted about in her other pocket and produced a stripy woollen beanie. Harry took it from her and placed it on her head, making sure it was pulled down over her ears. "Are you all set then?"

She nodded.

"Fish and chips, a pot of tea and an open fire," Harry said, wrapping his arm around her shoulders. "How does that sound?"

"Perfect," Ruth replied, pressing herself into the warmth of his body as they started to walk up the street.

**-x-**

"Told you," Sheila said, triumphantly, as she and Alan watched the younger couple disappear from view. "Nowt ex about her."

_The End._

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**Thanks for reading. :) **


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